


Strange little girl

by SharpestRose



Category: Popslash
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Britney Jean almost wishes she was famous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange little girl

Fucking Reg. This was all his fault.

A wry corner of her mind pointed out that was how she'd gotten into this predicament. Fucking Reg, on her bed with the pretty white spread her mother had bought her for her twentieth birthday. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. They were going to get engaged soon, after all.

And now she was red-eyed and puffy-nosed and sitting in the back row of a smoggy old bus in the middle of the night.

Fucking Reg.

Britney Jean Spears may not have graduated highschool, but she wasn't stupid. Queasy feelings in the morning and an overdue period wasn't the most subtle of hints, either. She'd told him, of course, because she loved him and they were gonna get married and it was his baby.

The bruise on her cheekbone still showed through the makeup.

Fucking Reg.

Once upon a time, she'd wanted to be famous. Starving for the spotlight. The Mickey Mouse Club had cured her of that, it had been such a relief to go back to being ordinary and anonymous. People still watched her as she walked down the street, but that was just because she'd inherited her grandmother's hourglass curves. She didn't have to play superstar anymore.

It would be nice to have the money superstardom included, though, instead of the hundred and fifty dollars from her bank account and twenty from her brother's wallet. She was too old for this teenage runaway crap.

She wasn't sure if she should get an abortion. It made sense, because there was no way she was ready to be mom, but it felt wrong. She'd always been told her body was made to nurture life, and she believed it.

The bus pulled into the station and she stopped thinking about it. Too late, too tired, time in the morning to worry about everything. For now she just needed somewhere to sleep.

Her knapsack was depressingly light, just a few changes of clothes and her pocketbook and the paperback she'd been halfway through. The big city ate little girls down on their luck, like her, alive.

She tried to get a room at the first motel she came to, but she'd overestimated what her meagre funds could get her. It was a long hike to the cheaper district but there was no point in wasting more time when she was already dead on her feet.

Four paces down the sidewalk before a girl a year or two younger than her beckoned her over and offered her a cigarette. She didn't want to accept, because she didn't really like smoking and there was the baby to think about now, but her hands were shaking so bad and it was the first time anybody had said two words to her, so she took it with a whispered 'thankyou' and leant against the wall.

"Let me guess: new in town. No money. Nowhere to go." her new friend said. She nodded. "Honey, I know just the guy you should meet."

She wasn't stupid. "No, I don't -"

"Sure, sure, honey, neither do I. But it puts a roof overhead, you know? Just give it a try until you're on your feet again. I'm Mandy, but out here people call me Candy."

"That rhymes." She gave a nervous smile, but really it was easy to like this girl. "My name's Britney."

"Pleased to meet you." Mandy's hand was cold in hers, none of the girls along the sidewalk were wearing jackets in the chill. "So, you wanna meet my guy?"

She wasn't ready for that, not just yet. Hadn't fallen that far. She opened her mouth to say so when two guys came into view around the corner and Mandy stamped her cigarette under her shiny red boot and flicked her hair back.

"This is stupid. You have any idea how stupid this is? Security's going to kill us for ditching them."

"What's the matter, Jup? You're acting like you don't wanna get laid."

"You know, there are numbers you can call. To get girls right to the hotel room. Clean girls. I don't especially want to start my adult life with a disease or something."

"Come on, man! This is a coming of age ritual. As the older and wiser best friend I'm obligated to buy you a cheap hooker for your birthday."

"Chris, I came of age a long time ago. Can we please go back now?"

"You." the dark-haired one addressed her. "What's your name?"

"Bri-" Mandy kicked her in the shin. "Bridgid." she finished after a moment's hesitation.

"Listen to that accent!" the man laughed. "You wanna be a birthday present, Bridgid?"

Mandy kicked her shin again when she paused.

"Ok. Yeah." she tried to smile but it didn't work so well.

"Fab-u-lous. See, that wasn't painful, was it?" the man turned to his friend, taller and fairer and younger. The birthday boy, who was staring at her with something like recognition.

Oh.

No.

Justin.

It had been years since they'd seen each other, but anybody with a television knew Justin Timberlake's face. He hadn't lost the burn for fame after Mickey Mouse Club, becoming America's favourite pretty boy in the end. She'd followed his career, glad that dreams had come true for one of them at least, but hadn't expected to ever see him again. Especially not like this.

The other guy, Chris her brain supplied, remembering group pinups from teen magazines, was looking at the two of them and laughing.

"Lust at first sight. Beautiful thing. Run along back to the hotel now." he shoved a handful of bills in Justin's hand. "Give this to her after."

It was a lot of money. Certainly more than a hundred and seventy dollars. And Mandy was grinning like a proud parent. And she did need the money. It was a lot of money.

In a cab towards the expensive part of town Justin turned to her and said 'Britney?', she just bowed her head and nodded, ashamed at being recognised. He tilted her chin up and kissed her, and she knew that prostitutes weren't supposed to do that, but he was so soft and nice and didn't smell like Reg had.

"We don't have to-" he said in the hotel room, soft cream carpet under her tired, sore feet and beautiful things all around. She shook her head.

"You don't want your birthday present?" it almost sounded flirty. In a strange way she was proud of herself.

"Britney..." ok, maybe not flirty enough. "It would be. Too weird. What are you doing here?"

"Long story." her fingertips brushed the bruise on her cheek, half-disguised by makeup. "This is your twenty-first, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Justin smiled.

"How come -" it was too forward, she shouldn't ask, but she'd always wondered whenever she read articles why someone so charming and desired was single. "How come you don't have a girlfriend?"

Justin shrugged. "Not allowed to have someone unless they're famous too. Heartthrobs are only allowed to date their own species. Remember Chrissie from MMC?"

She nodded. Chrissie and her had been penpals for a little while, before their lives had drifted off towards divergent futures.

"Yeah, well, her people want to set the two of us up, but she's - ugh, can't stand her." he made such a revolted face she couldn't help but giggling. This was the weirdest moment of her life, ever. Gossiping about people she'd known two lifetimes ago with her childhood crush, who thought she was a streetwalker.

"If you want to." she paused. It was such an ugly word, she only used it as an epithet against idiot jerks who behaved like stupid pigs. "Fuck. We can. Your birthday and all."

She was practically a virgin, except for that one time that had gotten her into this crazy mess, but she knew how to bluff. And Justin was surprisingly gentle. She was crying, just a bit, when he lay down on top of her on the bed.

Just for a little while, it was nice to pretend that this was her world too. That she was Britney Spears, famous superstar, allowed to date other superstars. She and Justin could live happily ever after, and she could have her baby and put it in daycare with Madonna's kids. They could be a celebrity family, a big white wedding on the front of all the magazines. And her mother would dab her eyes with a hanky and be so proud of her little baby. Famous superstars make one hundred and seventy dollars before they get up in the morning. Famous superstars don't have to take money out of their brothers' wallets as they sneak out of the house.

Her mother would find the note she'd left soon, when it got past curfew and she didn't come home. What would they tell neighbors and family? Oh, Britney Jean ran away. No, we don't know why.

They'd never say anything about the stuff in the bathroom trashcan, the box and the little plastic tab and a bunch of tissues she'd used to stop up her bloody nose when Reg left.

She cried more, and hoped Justin wouldn't notice and throw her out. She needed that money, and she needed to believe the dream for just a little bit longer.

"Happy birthday." she whispered into his ear, pretending that she was more than just a present.

 


End file.
